


I Pretend, You Ignore (But is it Obvious?)

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Dose of Denial, alcohol is everyone's bestie, robb is an adorable idiot, teenage idiocy honestly, the whole stark fam bam - Freeform, vacay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: "Of course we’re only pretending to be so touchy with each other. Why else would she let me touch her butt and let me hold her hand?"





	1. A White Lie Can't be This Good (But it is)

It was his parents’ faults. Granted, whether it be psychological issues or the reason for him nearly drooling at the sight of Sansa in a bikini, the blame will always be of his parents. Particularly Mother, he thinks with a scowl. The brunette had basically coerced the both of them to join the quartet of lawyers in their rest house located in some beach resort, so far away from the conventional chill the Starks are used to.

 

“It’s your first summer as college students! Spend it with us before you are whisked away with your newfound friends.” Lyanna beseeched them in a tone no person with a beating heart could resist.

 

Jon supposed view of the notably vast sea stretched out into the horizon; the surface of it glittering in the height of the day and the most fundamental fresh air are pivotal changes from the university. But still, he whines taking a sip from the glass of iced tea in his hand, Sansa didn’t have to be so goddamn stunning in her humbling two piece.

 

She also sat underneath a broad circular umbrella. Her fiery locks sweeps on the tops of her shoulders, her smooth skin near of snow is a temptation for an exploration for Jon. Her leg is crossed on the other and purple shades (that matches her bikini, he unconsciously bites his lip at that) matches her top and high waist shorts. All in all, she is the picture of classic beach wear.

 

Yet here he is, hidden under an umbrella, eying her from the resort bar like some goddamn stalker. People around him are talking and flirting, swirling the straws in their alcohol or sweet fruit shakes. He paid no heed to everyone else because Sansa is his favourite silent movie, no words needed to be said but he’s so captivated already.

 

Technically speaking, he could never stalk Sansa. Mostly because their class schedules are identical and their parents are disgustingly close that chances of seeing her outside of the classroom is because of them. These two reasons give him room to breathe because then, _then_ he doesn’t feel bad about how he’s eerily updated with every single aspect of her life. And besides other form their schedules and family ties, they're almost two peas in a pod. So alike in the mind set for their future, a path for justice whether in court or in firms because honouring the victims and condemning the justly accused are the man focus of their lives. And he hates how he  _loves_ this about them; so alike yet so different.

 

He suspects that Sansa knows a ton of things as well but knowing _her,_ Sansa most likely doesn’t care about it. But him? He even knows what book she’s currently reading thanks to Mother. And yes, it was days before today, seeing her sprawl on the bench and reading the aforementioned novel that Mother suggested. It contained some sci-fi plot that genuinely surprised him but seeing Sansa’s face scrunched up in the utmost cutest manner of concentration, well he isn’t to complain at any moment.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. There are a lot of more things to do than be occupied of thoughts revolving around a woman that is so engrossed in her book. He knows this but he continues to sit on his ass and enjoys the view. Not of the breath taking of the beach’s sands, so fine almost like grainy silk against his hands or join in varying fun and outdoor activities that could be excuses to talk to pretty girls.

 

 _Yes! Pretty girls who have flirty smiles and we’ll banter smoothly enough until I have her in her bed. Not like Sansa, so cold that I wonder how she doesn’t melt._ This isn’t an insult but it’s more of berating himself for a behaviour he doesn’t feel sorry for. He should’ve assisted Robb in babysitting his younger siblings in jumping from one beach acitvity to the other but his mouth sprang out some lie before he could join his best friend in reigning in mischievous children.

 

No, he enjoys gazing at Sansa and he likes to think his face does not convey the soft puppy feelings she catalyses in him.

 

 _Maybe I’m just stalling because at three o’clock there’ll be a scuba diving lesson for beginners and it does sound fascinating._ Jon thinks a rather poor excuse for the said endeavour is twenty minutes away and he should gear up. The moment he notices Sansa’s tall glass of whatever organic hellish drink she ordered, he glanced at the bar, motioning to her order to be refilled. In a moment, he snatches the glass from the waiter and plops on the thankfully empty seat beside hers.

 

“Here love.” Jon murmurs. He bites the inside of his cheek at seeing her jump, surprised that yes, reality is far from the story she’s invested in.

 

“I wasn’t aware you worked here, Jon.” Sansa quipped, her pouty pink mouth touches the striped straw that’s surrounded by green goo she loves.

 

He relaxes on the wooden bench and shrugs. _You could pay me in some way…._ “Mother reads that book. She forced it upon me too but I loved it. Please don’t tell her that.” He huffs.

 

She bobs her head, humming a tone of indifference before flipping to another page. “Lyanna has an admirable taste in book. I would love to read everything she did.” She answers. Closing the book with a lilac bookmark, she reaches for the sunscreen. She doesn’t pay him any attention as she lavishes her arms and the front of her legs.

 

The warmth in his veins is surely because of the summer heat, right? Jon sits next to her, trying not to ogle too _much_ at the innocent actions Sansa does on her skin for care. He reaches for his drink, thirst making itself known each time he is near her. But it’s a different sort of need a solution involving woman with such a lovely face and a body he’d do anything to worship.

 

“I can do your back.” Jon blurted, finding no shame in what he suggested. Anything that’s concerning her, Jon would give anything to help her.

 

Red blooms on her face and funnily, Jon _feels_ the colour deep in his simmering blood.  “Okay.” She acquiesces and she lies on her stomach.

 

He feels a clench in his stomach, twisting his gut and nearly propelling him to do something extremely impulsive. _I could kiss the small of her back,_ a wormy voice cackled in the back of his mind. _Down boy._ He runs his fingers on the back of her strapless bra, making a moving to remove it when Sansa swiftly sits on her thighs, mortification written on the agape of her mouth and her eyes are comically large. He laughs at her reaction.

 

“ _Jon.”_ She hissed.    

He briefly wondered what his name would feel like, ghosting against his skin with her whispery voice. “Love, I need to put sunscreen on every part of your back! And besides if you don’t move, I won’t see your chest.” He defends himself hands in the air and truth in his tone.

 

For a few seconds, she merely stared at him, the blue in her eyes far more enticing than the shade of the sky. “Alright, I-I trust you.”  She said and before he could blink, she resumed her position. She lays flat on her stomach and her pert ass in his view.

 

He evens out the lotion on her back, his hands tingle at how damningly smooth she is. It felt like caressing silk. He grazed the tops of her shoulder, gliding down to the curves of her sides and it takes all the scattered dignity he has to not verbally react to this.

 

Jon has a vivid imagination when it comes to Sansa, picturing her flushed skin underneath his ardent attention, her face radiating pleasure in a manner her shit for brains exes never gave her, and well her just basically saying his name in a silky serpentine grip on his nerves _._ Now, his senses are acutely overwhelmed by _just_ the feel of her skin. He nearly busts a vein at hearing her sigh so heavenly that Jon mimics this beneath his breath. So quietly he fears only Sansa heard it.

 

“You’re good at this.” Sansa mutters so softly he might not have heard her. But it’s a special skill to always catch the winds of words she speaks, he learned to sharpen it over the years and the smugness can’t be restrained if he is honest.

 

She moves her neck so her cheek rests against the bench’s back. The shadow of her lashes dance across her face, her nose slants gracefully and at this angle, Jon can note the fullness of her pink lips. A faint smile can be seen, twitching at the edge of her mouth. Her red mane is a silky river of lava, shiny against one of her shoulders.

 

Jon could sit there, be burned by the sun, if it meant he is to stare at Sansa with longing so openly.

 

“Can I touch your thighs?” He murmurs, making sure his chest doesn’t touch her back. His mouth hovers over the shell of her ear, hands steady in its purpose. And if he darts his tongue out, he could have a taste of Sansa and her damn rosewater bath she loves so much.

 

Sansa makes a sound of approval but he _feels_ it more than he hears it. She exhales and squirms when his ever so attentive hands drifted down to the back of her thighs. Her muscles relax at his caresses, her tensed shoulders visibly slacked and that corner tipped smile can still be seen.

 

He focuses on her face, lax and subtly satisfied as he swiped his hands on the inside of her thighs. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent the grin from surfacing as his hands crawl higher until his fingers brush the edge of her high waist undergarment. His index finger traces the fabric, the line of cotton that is only half-inch below her perfect bum.

 

“Jon, my legs please.” Sansa mumbles, peeking with one eye and arching her brow.

 

He nods, fully aware how he’s _blushing_ like some schoolgirl. “Sorry, I was just wondering if I should buy that for Mother.” He casually said. A smile breaks out of his face at hearing her laugh.

 

“Stop distracting me, Snow. Get to your job.” Sansa orders in a stern voice before closing her eyes once more.

 

Jon doesn’t-will _not-_ admit how he absolutely loves it when Sansa’s bossy voice does things to him; bodily reactions that he can’t be held responsible for. “This is my job, huh? What do I get in return?” He hums, finally applying the sunscreen on her legs.

 

Sansa hums in false contemplation. “How about I think on it? You’re a difficult man to please, Snow.”

 

He snorts. “I am not.” He protests. _You don’t have to try anything to please me, love. Look at my direction and smile and I’m on the floor._

 

“What do you want then?”

 

 _You, always you that I want._ The answer came in a second, immediate and as innate as breathing. He claps his hands and examines his work, the lotion is evenly spread out and his hands tingle at the memory of her skin. Those are now under silver lock and key in the back of his mind.

 

He makes a move to say scuba diving but someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see a tall brunette with sweat glistening on his arms. “Yeah?” He bites out in irritation.

 

The man with messy tawny locks gestured to the game of beach volleyball. “We could use a guy like you.” He said.

 

Jon glances at Sansa, who now sat on her butt, rereading the book like nothing happened.

 

To his surprise, she responded kindly before he would surely dismiss him rudely. “Can he apply sunscreen first and then he’ll join you boys?” Sansa requested, eyes resembling one of a famed deer.

 

What’s-his-name nodded. “Yeah sure, meet you back there at court.”

 

She places a blob of it on her palm and applies it on his arms. Her face is positively red, a simper curling her mouth, and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. Her hands are swift and her fingers dance on the ridges of his muscles.

 

Jon sends a quick prayer to whatever deity allowing him such heavenly pleasure. He tries to sit there, be impassive but when she shyly glanced at him, the dam broke and a wide beam is on his face. Waves of tingles are felt wherever her hands have been and if he didn’t know any better, his breathing got heavier.

 

But Sansa wouldn’t know for she is too focused on her reluctance on looking at him, acknowledging what they both won’t admit and let reality of their preference take course.

 

“You do your chest.” Sansa murmurs in a low tone.

 

He sighs dramatically, doing as he is told. “Honestly love, you’re being magnanimous today. Is it the book?”

 

She shakes her head and settles back on her bench. “No, I want you far away from me. You’ve been such a disturbance for my reading.” She says with no weight of anger at all. Opening the book, she covers her face, an expression that Jon knows she’s smiling.

 

Jon pats her thigh. He revels on how she doesn’t swat his hand away. _Is today my birthday?_ “Well, I’m off to be at a great distance from you! Don’t miss me too much, love.” He says and taps her nose. He laughs when she scrunched it and stuck her tongue out.

 

Jogging to the large taped rectangular court, where the other players are, breezily chatting to each other. They mostly greeted them with nods and pats on the shoulder. He stood next to the one who invited him here in the first place.

 

“Your girl’s cute.” He commented in a breeze. “I’m Grenn.”

 

Jon felt a thunderous satisfaction at that assumption. He tries to wipe the smirk-it doesn’t work-but he looks back at her, donned in lilac (she told him a million times what specific shade of purple it was) and he smiles anyways.

 

“Name’s Jon. And don’t stare at her too much or we’ll lose.” Jon warned and readied himself.

 

It felt like a century of keenly watching the ball, making it flies to the other court, continuing the flow. He dived on the beach floor multiple times to get the ball and passed it to one of his teammates. The buzz of cheers and shouts hardly meant anything to him, barely registered in his narrow concentration on winning. Like all the past summers of football camp he attended, he assessed the situations before acting on his usual impulses.

 

They won. His team roared in triumph. Girls and other friends surrounded them, the girls batted their eyelashes prettily at them and some made promises of hanging out again. He merely wanted to return to Sansa. He brushed off any implication of flirts from the people who threw it at his feet and grinned, thinking of telling his victory to Sansa.

 

He turned when Grenn pointed to where they met.Uneasiness is seen in his stance and the scrunch on his brows. “I think someone is trying to flirt with your girlfriend.” He cautioned.

 

Jon didn’t correct him for the second time and went stomping back. He narrowed his eyes at a blond, his locks were silkier and his blue eyes twinkled in mischief. Naturally the blond only wore shorts and his toned muscles and abs were on display. He edged towards them until he can decipher their words.

 

“I-I can’t.”

 

Jon curled his fists at hearing her voice being shaky. She should be indulging in rich tapestry of her book, not trying to bat away a dumb jock trying to get in her lilac swimwear.

 

“Your boyfriend doesn’t have to know, you know.” The idiot said and had the audacity to wink at Sansa.

 

She’s standing now, clutching the precious book in an iron grip. He couldn’t see her face but he knows she would have a face of pure stone, polished and vacant.

 

 _Why is everyone assuming I’m her boyfriend? Am I unknowingly courting her?_ Jon briefly wondered before loudly clearing his throat. He focuses on Sansa, seeing her reaction as relief. “Hey baby, we won the game.” He says and opens one of his arms.

 

Sansa nearly trips on the towel in getting to him. She glues herself and snuggles against his side. Now, _now_ it is hard to not be smug. Being called her boyfriend twice in a day is the highlight of the entire summer. She looks up at him, then raised herself by a hold on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Congrats, darling.” She whispers against his cheek.

 

Jon stares at the guy, retaining his courage which is admirable in a stupid sort of way. “What is it that I don’t have to know? Are you planning an early surprise birthday for me?” He jests but it sounded cold, just as he intended.

 

“A party yes but a beach party later at nine. It’s at my beach house and I think your girlfriend could have some fun while you play with your boys.” The man, the stupid, thick headed man answered.

 

His hand that cups her waist slightly increases his grip but he didn’t show it and thankfully, Sansa didn’t as well. “Ah well, no need to sneak out, love. We’ll attend.” Without thinking about it, and _dutifully_ playing his role, he leans forward and plants kisses on her forehead and on her brows. He then glowers at the smirking blonde.

 

“And thank you for your concern but I think she and I know how to have fun on our own.” His saucy smirk was the perfect reason for Sansa’s face rapidly reddening. “Don’t we, love?” He taunts and pats her hip.

 

“I hope to see you there.” He says, eyes so clearly sliding to Sansa before he left.

 

She pushed herself away from him, placing the novel on the bench before her anticipated freak out. “Jon, I am _so_ sorry to drag you in this mess but he-he was cornering me. I felt so uncomfortable and you being my boyfriend is the first defence that I thought of and-“ She inhaled a shuddering breath. It was enough time for Jon to scoot forward and held her by the shoulders.

 

“Hey, hey I understand. Boys are fucking creeps sometimes. I’m glad I came at the right time.” Jon cooed, his fingers briefly twirled her strands of hair before tucking it behind her ear. “And besides, a beach party in the summer? Talk about cliché! We will have fun.”

 

“Don’t you mean you’ll get drunk and I’ll have to drag you to our vacation house?” Sansa snorts.

 

Jon shakes his head. “It’s not that typical scenario because we are getting drunk tonight. You and me and a shit ton of booze; that’s what summer is all about.” He said and his thumbs sweep on the curve of her shoulders.

 

“Fine.” She says with a tiny pout that Jon resists kissing. “You better make alcohol appealing to me, somehow.” Her eyes drifted to the ground, her hands flexing ad closing around the book. “I shouldn’t have said that, Jon.”

 

He sat down, urging her to do the same next beside him. “Uh, why not? He‘s definitely a grade A asshole.” He nonchalantly answered, sipping at her organic drink and immediately regretting it. Grabbing the passing waiter by the arm, he informed him to bring mango milkshake.

 

“That was Harry  Hardyng.” Sansa said, implication dictated he should know who the prick was. Sipping from his milkshake, he gave no answer. She sighed and lightly glowered at him. “His parents own one of the biggest firms in the country? Built their fame with that, plus his relatives are senators and congressmen as well. Don’t you listen to our parents chatter?”

 

 _No because in dinners, you lean towards them politely talking. Your neck is so smooth and tempting. I’m always tempted to leave hickeys. And avoid looking at your siblings so they won’t know I’m thinking of that._ Jon shifted, hating himself for being assaulted of that mortifying reaction barrel into his thoughts. So close to the perpetual temptation he has come to know.

 

“What, is he your little crush? You got cold feet when you saw him.” He teased. A childish part of him, the part so in tuned to feelings he’d rather not ponder on, hope he’s false.

 

“No, but I _know_ my parents would love it if we are connected to them somehow. But no, I _had_ to be scared of him.” Sansa complained, voice trembling as he heard before. The only time she heard such quake was when she conversed with Harry.

 

She is nothing but obedient, follows instructions to the very letter.  Naturally, _of course_ she’d want to impress her parents with whom she dates. There aren’t any romances, as far he knows. And just as he’d mention, Jon is _kind of_ an unintentional expert when it comes to Sansa’s life. But he isn’t about to apologise for it because well, Tormund taunted him before splitting up for their summer. _You’re a shameless bastard, Snow._ And he didn’t deny it the slightest.

 

“Hey,” Jon mumbles, soft and had the same effect with a megaphone because Sansa turned to him. Their noses almost brushed if only, _only,_ he would move an inch more but he doesn’t. “He tries, I say that because my God his technique sucks, to flirt even when he knows you’re in a relationship. I for one think he’s not boyfriend material.”

 

Sansa’s mouth quirked up at that. “And I should take your word as gospel? You’re the expert of reliable personalities now?” She banters back, brushing her shoulders against his, simpering so shyly Jon wants to feel it against his lips.

 

 _I think I know what you’d want._ He kept those words hidden, buried so she may never know his secret. A theory he would never dare test because if it fails, everything else will fall apart. “You honestly should.” He says with a laugh.

 

“Can-can you stay here? I-he might return and I….” Sansa mumbled but she shakes her head, her river of locks caressing her exposed shoulders in a way he only dreamt of. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be keeping you from playing beach volleyball all afternoon. You have sunscreen. You’ll be safe.” She said in a rush. She sat against the large chair and opened the book but Jon stopped her.

 

He leaned forward, adoring how her eyes are golden and ever so distracting. “I think I should give the other team some victory, yeah? Give them a chance. Tomorrow I could play.” He said, settling to the bench next to hers.

 

“I could watch you play.” Sansa said, her soothing tone sweetened by gratitude.

 

“Of course you’ll be there. I’d need a lucky kiss from my girlfriend.” Jon couldn’t deny it, to himself because of the excited tingles down his back, reminding him of how thrilling this notion is. Finally, he has a reason to make an association between Sansa and a word he wouldn’t dare use on anyone else really.

 

He flicks his gaze at Sansa, the dusting blush is back as she pretends to not hear him and instead focus on her book.

 

Jon leans back on his chair but he frowns when he sees Harry, joining the opposite team he had. When the blond looked their way, he knew that moron was checking out his girl-Sansa. His jaw coiled like a taut spring and luckily, Sansa’s hand dangled at her side. He reached out, intertwined their fingers. He turned to her, grinning when Sansa peeked at him by the corner of her book.

 

“You’re distracting me again.” Sansa grumbled but her thumb skimmed along his knuckles.

 

He _had_ to convince himself Sansa knows how Harry  is still throwing lusty looks at her. Why else would she play along to his loving actions without a thought; so fluid that it’s an instinct for Sansa. Jon had to restrain himself from kissing her in this instant.

 

“If anything you’re the distraction to me love.” Jon complained.

 

She moved to another page, humming and her fingers are still laced with his. “What is it you’re doing right now?”

 

 _In my mind, you, always you._ “Let’s go back to the house. You’ll get a few hours of private reading before we get ready for the party.” He urges. If they stay like this, he might mindlessly lean in and kiss her neck like a loving boyfriend he would be to her. _I’ll love you all night long._ And then, _then,_ surely Harry  must know they’re not faking their status and are truly in love.

 

Sansa stands up, holding her closed book on one hand and the other is offered to him. “I can read in my room and I might just finish this.” She jests, cheeks denting in the sweetest curves.

 

Jon will always take up whatever she offers. This vague friendship, how their touches will always hover, and this-this taste of Heaven at being truly at her side; the list of things he will endure for her is never ending. He towers over her, wanting so dearly to kiss her, taste her smile and happiness.

 

“Can I put my arm around your waist? Harry ’s watching us.” Jon wonders how she’d respond if he didn’t utter the last part of his warning but he knows, knowing her, she wouldn’t deign to give him access to the map of her smooth skin.

 

At her nod, Jon hesitantly rests his hand on her waist. They both move and by complete accident, his hand swipes down on her perfect bum. He freezes for a moment, looking down at her but it seems she didn’t feel it. Or if she did, she didn’t give any indication that she felt revolted.

 

So he resumed wrapping his arm on her waist, clearly because Harry  can see them almost several yards away from where he was intensely playing.

 

_Of course we’re only pretending to be so touchy with each other. Why else would she let me touch her butt and let me hold her hand?_

 


	2. I Like to Think It Was The Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that alcohol does not inspire out of character actions. Rather, it takes away one's inhibitions and acts like that reckless best friend that encourages you to do the dumbest things you've always wanted to do. Oh how the want to do such things overcomes logic and the trouble afterwards.
> 
>  
> 
> Jon, being as impulsive as he is in love, he blames the alcohol. And not at all does he weighs in how a person can be drunk on love as well.

Convincing their parents was in no way troubling. The moment Harry’s name is mentioned, the eyes of the adults lit up and immediately urged them to attend, to acquiesce such an invitation. Sansa side eyes him with a message he instantly understood. _They’re never on a break. They’re scheming as it is._

The next thing he knew, they were walking to the said beach house, hands swaying between them. They _had_ to hold hands, both of them saying it as timid as children, because their so called relationship should have evidences. (Jon is happy anyways.) Music radiated powerfully even from afar, remixed songs with hard bass boomed and nearly painful to the ears. There was already a hoard of nameless teens, drinking from their cups, dancing, and laughing.

“I apologise in advanced if you won’t enjoy this evening. I’m quite nervous.” Sansa chirped, her hold on him increasing. She spent damn hours choosing on an outfit. Throwing away dresses, tops, and shorts to try and match the “vibe” of the party. Whatever the hell that meant. After countless of tries, she donned a cream sleeveless dress, stopping at her knees. A thick cardigan for the evening chill, and at her feet were leather strapped sandals. Her hair came loose in auburn waves and Jon wants to drown in it.

Jon pulls her closer to his side almost as though he meant to pacify this need of wanting to be at her side at all times. “The first party I attended was about sophomore year high school. It was in a yacht and my team mates basically forced me to take shots. And I did, like six in a row then Theon started the engine of the yacht and I threw _up_ on the deck, everyone stared at me.” He recalled and rightfully shivers at disgust. He smiles at hearing Sansa laugh, more musical than the songs blasting through speakers.

“I’m pretty sure I won’t be as bad as you the first time around.” Sansa teases in her own little way; her eyes glinting, her face alight with joy.

_I’ll make sure of it._

The living room was alike the other parties he attended; noisy songs vibrating his bones, a nameless crowd that moves to the way of alcohol, and the bar was busy with its customers for their thirst. He hated every party he attended with; a rather dull event if one had passed through as many as he did.

“It-It’s lively.” Sansa muttered, not bothering to disguise her disgust. Seeing the people loosely holding on to the inhibitions of social etiquette is a sight she is not used to. She’s inching closer to him in slight apprehension of the chaotic scene. “What is it we do here?”

“We have fun, a killer hangover, and blurred memories!” Jon urged and they pushed their way to the crowd. Miraculously, there were two red empty stools at the left corner of the half-circle bar. After retrieving their drinks and clanked the plastic cups together, he sipped on the dull vodka.

Sansa drank from hers. She coughed a few times but tipped the brim to her lips once more. “My, this is worse than what I drink at Father’s gala events.” She whined. She scanned their surroundings, colours from the dance floor constantly changing, cups are drunkenly raised in the air, and he could hear people cheering and laughing.

“Of course it is. This makes you drunk faster.” Jon replied. “This party is decent considering how its being hosted by a Neanderthal. His two brain cells worked hard for this.”

Sansa giggled, drinking from her glass again. She eyed something beyond his shoulder and the tension in her shoulders came back with a vengeance. “He’s here.” She whispered, slightly horrified at the reminder of Harry.

Jon huffed a breath. “Tequila or Gin?” He questioned her, twisting on his stool so his bare knee brushes against hers. _So damn smooth,_ he lamented in his thoughts as he smiled at her.

Not having any genuine interest on either choices, she shrugged. “Tequila I guess.” She answered in hesitance.

Jon slid away from his seat and went behind the counter, mindful of the bartender tending to the other future alcoholics. He reached forward and easily snatched a labelled bottle and grabbed her hand, both of them giddy as they escaped the cacophony of it all. They arrived out unto its front yard; facing the ocean that seemed liquid black in the night.

“Look, a ladder! We should go up the roof.” Sansa suggested, her beam bright in the manner stars would envy; even in their afterlife none could match Sansa’s smile. Before he could reply, she snatched the bottle and climbed up the wooden ladder, twined with brittle fake grass.

He caught up to her not a moment later, his hand hovering on her waist to try and catch her if she misses a step. Concern thrums in his system, nothing else went through him except for her safety. When they stood on the rows of bricks, Jon stood close to her side, much more than usual but this day has started out much more than he ever dared to dream.

Sansa plopped at the middle, patting for him to sit beside her. “Come here Jon.” She called out, teasing a song he’d forever listen to.

_I’d follow you anywhere._

“This is a nice hideout from the golden oaf, up on his own roof.” Jon hummed, opening the cap and taking the first sip. It wasn’t as rancid as the first time tasting it. He could almost hear Tormund smacking his knee and that bellowing laughter, echoing in the halls of their dorm. _I’ll only get your cup if I fill it up with more cheap liquor!_

Sansa elevated the bottle and she tasted a fraction of its content but much more than Jon would assume. “It’s quiet here. And his smile for me creep me out.” She whispers, her voice subdued.

Jon scooted half an inch closer to her so their clothed shoulders brushed. He wanted to hug her, let her know some warmth in this night. But alas, there’s an icy barrier between them; unspoken of but the winds knifes into his bones. “Maybe we should not have come. You could’ve read another of Mother’s books.” _And I’d try to not think about you with your little shorts and large shirts._

“A little party would do me good.”

“This is not a party.” He pointed out. “The people beneath this roof, grinding to horrid remix songs are the ones in a party. But we don’t have to join them. Maybe we could steal his gin this time and go home.”

Sansa crawled over to the gutters, not reacting to the tight grip Jon had on her arm. She peered at the edge and saw there was a large camp fire, logs circled around the burning branches and teenagers were dancing around it. “Aw, come on we’ve come this far Jon. We should enjoy our youth.” She whined.

With Jon basically hovering over her, they both descended from the room and ambled to the camp fire. Sansa sat on the empty seats and he mimicked her actions. The chill wind contrasts greatly against the heat radiating from the fire.

He could see the worry still evident in her subtle frown on her lush lips, her eyes of vibrant ocean shined like ripples of worry breaking at water’s surface. So, he uncorked the bottle and drank in tentative sips. “Here. You might forget he exists with this.” He advises her.

She takes it without question. Tilting her head back and her eyes are closed, she roughly swallowed the burning liquid down and shakily nodded. “At this rate, I’ll forget my own name.”

They took turns drinking from the bottle, both of them silent but people around them were not. A mix group of boys and girls were having a competition in who can drink shots of vodka the fastest. Cheers and shouts of triumph pierced the would be silent night. Conversations weren’t needed because most of their life, words weren’t exchanged between them and they didn’t deem talks of mediocre topics necessary.

At times when left alone to his thoughts, Jon agonised on what they could talk about. But the consistent result is him overthinking about every tiny word he would utter to her, hating himself for not being as skilled in conversations as he would’ve been if his target is _not_ Sansa.

 _You get tongue tied all the fucking time it’s so funny._ Pyp guffawed at one moment he fleetingly mentioned it.

Jon scowled greatly at that memory. It was not him being so frizzled with anxiety. Rather, it’s because she’s _Sansa_ ; the perfect and resplendent person that she is. He sometimes can’t get his head wrapped around how she’s with him in her own will, not being whisked away by some lowly frat boy or whatnot.

“There is only a quarter left!” Sansa commented. She glanced at him, glowering at the fire. “Would you like to do something else tonight? Maybe dance or join in on the fun over there?” She jerked her thumb to the on-going competition, screams and bets echoed from where the crowd gathered.

The alcohol must’ve been stronger than he thinks because inhibition would greatly protest on his next words. Yet, his request wasn’t pulled back in his throat. It was uttered, a little clumsy and so was his smile when Sansa nodded.

“You know what? Le-Let’s dance, princess.” He slurred out, standing and holding his hand out.

Sansa placed her palm on his and stood as well. She threw her head back in delight, seeing the usually aloof Jon, sway his hips to the remixed song being boomed from the tall speakers inside the house. “Jon, you’re acting so silly!” She exclaimed.

He shrugged, and exaggerated his movements. Reaching out to her hands, she swayed her, both of them grinning with so much life the fire behind them would envy. “Come on, love. We need to have fun.” He reasoned and then lifted his arm in a loose circle.

Sansa followed his movements and she was spun around. She held on to his arms, cheeks denting and no one can say that she doesn’t adore the man before her. “Alcohol makes you fun, Jon.” She teased in a manner she’d never _dare_ outside of this circumstance.

Or excuse as they would later label this- _this_ escape.

“And alcohol makes you a good dance, love.” Jon murmured against her temple. His lips ghost kisses there, hands cupping the curves of her waist and their rhythm receded much slower than the music not far from where they dance.

Vaguely, he remembered Mother signing him up for those torturous dancing lessons. The variety revolved around styles that would be required when one attends galas, charity events, and much more horrible situations that he should apply what he learned.

Perhaps, this is the only time he silently thanks Mother for wasting money on those classes. The way he holds her echoes touches of some highborn, close to the monarch, dancing with their queen, _his queen._ If Harry witnessed this sight of them, drunkenly slow dancing beside a camp fire, they would never notice.

Sansa rests her head on his shoulder, hands twined and dangled behind his neck. “I think I like beach parties now.” She murmured into the cotton of is shirt.

Jon rests his cheek against her head, wanting to savour this bubbled dance, away from the noise and clamour of the people around them. “Hmm, I like it too.” He lazily replies, both of them remaining in the comforting world they created with each other.

“Do you want to know why I don’t like Harry?” She slurs, hazy eyed and she pulled back a few inches to gaze at him.

_One look at him and I just know he won’t treat you right._

Her hands curl on his neck, fingers delving in his soft curls. Jon almost _purrs_ at how comfortable her deceptively loving actions are. “Because he didn’t strike me as a romantic type, more like the bed ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy he is. Dickon wasn’t in any way an improvement too; that oblivious lot.” She answers with annoyance. “Weird huh; romantics end up dating apathetic slobs?”

Jon blinked, hardly hiding his surprise at her being so open with him. In addition, there was a simmer of hatred for the aforementioned men. They could’ve had a queen as their girlfriend and yet they couldn’t take care of her the way she should be taken care of.

Sure _he_ isn’t a paragon of being a loving boyfriend. The evidence came in a form of the vivacious exchange student back in senior year; their relationship only lasted long enough until Ygritte slept with him precisely four times. After that, her scholarship conveniently expired and she got shipped back to wherever isolated ice land she came from.

An annoyingly persistent thought haunted him still, of him being sufficient in treating Sansa in manner that would satisfy her quench for romance. _It’s only a thought though._ Jon bent down and grabbed the bottle, almost finishing it and he gave the remaining clear liquid to his childhood friend. She finished the bottle with a proud grin.

“Since I’m your pretend boy toy, what do you want to do that would classify as a chick flick classic?” Jon asked, his thick eyebrows dancing on his forehead which made Sansa giggle for the fiftieth time that night.

She surveys the beach, fires dotted along the sands, people roamed about, drinking and laughing. “Let’s walk along the shore, yes?”

They walked away from the fire only to be called by someone behind them.

“Robb, hey man.” Jon said, surprised. “Wha-what are you doing here?” He stammered in spectacular nervousness.

“Oh uh, some guys invited me here. It’s nice that Sansa has a companion here. I wouldn’t want her to be in the likes of that bugger Hardyng.” The brunette bobbed his head rather too energetically. “Jon, you should join the content too! I won by drinking _eight_ shots in a fucking row! I think I’m a god.” He said in all honesty, his eyes too bright and his mouth looped upwards.

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, I’d love to but how about we cheer you on instead, yeah? I’d like to see you drink twenty.” He bargained. He chuckled when Sansa jabbed her elbow on his side with disapproval.

But the more inebriated out of the three of them was not offended and roared on how it was a great idea. He raced to the crowd of teenagers, his audience cheering in his return.

“I think he’ll have alcohol poisoning when he reaches his fifteenth.” Sansa murmured, leaning against him, hands curling on his wrist.

He shrugged, his hand came to dangle on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine, sweet girl. Let’s lovingly walk on the beach.”

And so they did. The removed their sandals and loafers, hands interlaced, and their feet dug into the soft sand, wet from the little waves of the beach. They ambled together, quietly giggling at the sight of twinkling stars, of the ocean of vast deep blue, stretching to the horizon.

“You know, the blue in your eyes is the shade the ocean would die for. Maybe Neptune might rise in its shores and demand to have the colour eyes. He’d probably let you choose some other colour but don’t. Blue is perfect for you.”  Jon whispered on her cheek, wanting so dearly to kiss her soft skin. He swipes his thumb on her hand.

The act had to be played in this party, they both agreed. A cautionary tactic when people would truly question if they are dating or not, so they kept on holding hands, retaining that genuinely adoring expression on their faces. You know, just in case someone finds out they’re not actually together.

But who would think of that when they portray _such_ a handsome couple?

Sansa giggled orotundly at that, delighting in his horrible flirts. Perhaps because his words were clumsy but even a drunk person can hear how enamoured he is. _He could be a convincing actor. I did give him the script and the scenes I wrote down are the things I truly want to do with him. This is maddening._ Or because the person who said those sweet words is Jon, a person she’d never dared to dream of simply because it has been drilled in her young head she shouldn’t _ever._ And forever is a long time just as long as she suspect these feelings are brewing, just beneath the surface and she represses it each time.

_We’re just drunk. This won’t matter in the morning._

She gasps in wonder as a stronger wave pushes itself onto their feet, reaching their ankles. The icy waters are refreshing in contrast to the heat the party is in; alcohol all around, people dancing in extremely close proximities, and Harry orchestrates it all.

“Oh no, Neptune has come for you! Don’t worry my lady, I’ll save you.” Jon  declared and wrapped his arms on her waist, lifting her up with no difficulties and swung her away from the oncoming waves, splashing against his knees.

Her laughter was louder and sweeter than the music from Harry’s party. She held onto him, her head thrown back in laughter once more as he tried to move forward but merely staggered. “My knight has come to rescue me from the treacherous sea god, my brave knight.” She praised, her voice light and _so, so_ jovial. It has been such a long time since she has been happy.

“Always, Sansa, _always._ ” Jon drunkenly vowed now that he plants her on her feet. Hands steadying on her hips, pulling her close, closer than a friend might do but more than the sober Jon would dare. _I’m yours._ He wanted to add because he’d give every inch of his skin for her safety, for her happiness that she so deserves.

“Guys I fucking won again!” Robb roared. He stood away from the shore, cupped his hands on the sides of his mouth and repeated his proclamation of victory and ended it with a loud _whoop._

He loathed the distance Sansa created between them. But he knew how at times, memories are still sharp even when one is as drunk as his best friend.  “Aye, congrats mate. Let’s get you home yeah?” He suggests, walking up to her older brother with a farce smile Robb wouldn’t notice in his state.

“You mean not drink anymore?” Robb whined like a petulant child. Since he is _well_ into his cups, he staggered on his weight and both Jon and Sansa were quick to support and flanked his sides. “You guys are so fucking amazing. I love you both so much. Sans, I love you. And Jo-Jon-“ He hiccupped first then laughed at his inability to continue his sentimental speech. “Jon you’re our brother not by blood but by uh-I guess mushy feelings and whatnot.” He slurred.

Jon glanced at Sansa who sensed his eyes. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Outwardly being reminded how close they all were, almost like a family with the years of being friends behind them. They aren’t _really_ siblings, Jon reasoned with his fuzzy thoughts and alcohol soaked mind. After all, Mother did mention how centuries ago they could’ve been cousins of sorts with their ancestors bounded by marriage.

 _From siblings to cousins, how quaint._ He said, chuckling to himself.

The three odd pair, walked along the abandoned streets until their vacation house loomed in their field of vision. Their vast seashell shaded house had no lights on so that was a relief. It was tricky to assist themselves (and an even drunker Robb) to climb the stairs without a sound. But they made do and Sansa lets the front door swung inside the living room.

They all sighed in relief when no one scolded at them for returning at two in the morning.

“You owe me fifty dollars.” A voice with mischief in its tone demanded.

A scoff was heard next. “Fifty dollars? We agreed on four dollars? I think it’s enough so I can finally have a new Carl Sagan book in my shelf.”

“You goddamn nerd, I thought you’re saving for a telescope or whatever.”

“Ah, I asked Father of that for Christmas, not to worry sister.”

The light of some lamp was turned out and beneath its shade were Arya and Bran, both squished on one large sofa. Both of them were smirking at the disastrous state the elders are at.

“Guys, I won two drinking games. Are you proud of your big bro?” Robb jested as he walked forward, out of the hands of his friend and sister.

“Oh yes.” Bran chirped, his large brown eyes ever so knowing. “Such victory brother.”

Arya sniggered beside him. “My, the hangover will be even more enjoyable than what we anticipated young one.” She loudly said to Bran. She studied Jon and Sansa with eyes that told Jon only trouble would follow shortly after. “Jon, Sansa, what did you do while Aunt Lyanna and Mother tended to Father’s paranoiac mind?”

Jon made a move to lie, its hanging on the tip of his tongue. He snuck a peek at Sansa and saw that she too formed pretence on their behalf.

But Robb bent on his knees and retched on the precious carpet Aunt Catelyn had bought. It had a colour of snow, a reminder of their hometown Winterfell, and it was to help in decorating their joint beach house.

“Oh no.” The Stark kids and Jon simultaneously uttered when they realized what had happened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos here and i adore your comments !! it honestly inspires me to try and write more


	3. A Push Down the Cliff and They'll Fall (In Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Arya understand the game. They also understand how people in love tend to not act on it due to, as Arya labelled it as "very dumb and shitty reasons".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a filler chapter bc i'll take my time with the next part. i hope you enjoy

_Before…._

It was ten in the evening. Everyone that doesn’t have a bachelor degree has gathered around the living room’s crackling fireplace, adults had their hands holding up glasses of beers or wine while the children splayed on the beloved carpet, playing and talking. The more responsible group went outside on the patio, chatting and swishing their drinks about with laughter.

“I have a checklist made for the both of us for tonight’s special activity.” Bran whispered to his younger sister, holding out two neatly folded papers.

Arya, who was quietly enjoying watching Rickon attempt in finding his toy between her hands, was definitely intrigued. She huffed, stray of cinnamon locks that escaped her messy bun swayed with that breath. “A what now, Brandon?” She questioned. She focused on the youngest out of the three of them, patting his chubby cheeks and smiling when the six year old giggled.

The junior boy scooted closer to her, his skinny legs brought closer to his chest. “Don’t you want to guess what happens to our older siblings?” He baited her perpetual thirst for trouble; an action found uncommon in him.

She scowled, the fire making her face angrier and younger. “Don’t remind me how they left me. I mean I’ve been to parties before. I’m a sophomore and in the baseball varsity.” She grumbled. She could still feel the disappointment boiling in her blood when she saw Jon and Sansa scamper out of the house in excitement. And not so long after, Robb informed their parents and followed his fellow peers.

Rickon lets out a loud laugh when he found his toy truck. He went on playing it as the teenagers drew closer together.

Bran ignored her complaint and scanned his unchecked lists once more. “So here’s yours. Whoever wins will get the monetary reward.”  He conditioned. His shaggy locks are one of the reasons for Mother always reprimanding him on his unkempt appearance.

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she scanned through the items. _Surpasses midnight, absolutely trashed, will vomit somewhere in the sands, passed out drunk in gods’ only know where, Sansa drunkenly defending why they’re super late, Jon got into a fight and won._

“How much we talking here?” She hesitantly conceded. So far in her vacation, it has been exciting. She got to try numerous new activities like scuba diving, listen to Bran list off the scientific names of the shells Rickon finds and win sand castle making contests amongst her siblings. More importantly, the surfboarding instructor is _insanely_ ripped in all the right places and his smirk his hotter than a thousand suns. _His kisses are smoother than the waves we ride._

“Eight dollars each.”

“Uh huh, _nice_ try sweetie how about two dollars instead?” Arya protested with an arch brow.

Bran contemplated on it for a moment or two and shrugged. “Alright but we’ll have to sneak back here when they’re all asleep.” He whispered, as though their parents would have super hearing and would know of their plans.

“You’re on.” And the two shook hands for it.

Bran slid a knowing glance at Arya, the same kind on how he miraculously found out she’d been sneaking off to see Gendry in the afternoon. “Do you want to make a side bet? Double or nothing.” He proposes with an upturned expression.

_“How the bloody hell did you know? Is this because I told you bird watching has never been a hobby of literally any person alive? Because if so, I’d like to retract my statement.”_

_Bran laughed in bemusement. “Ah, it’s the obvious clues no one picks up on. Plus, the old and reliable formula of probability and the old dash advice from Sherlock; look for answers in the impossible then the possible.” The pride swells in his chest in seeing Arya speechless. “You having a fling is as good chance as dogs talk in complete sentences.”_

There was something so self-assured that made her hesitant in agreeing. _Bran the Third Eye;_ was his middle school nickname since he could predict the results in any sport that his siblings love to watch. “What about?” She slowly mumbled, combing through the hair of their youngest brother.

“It’s about our darling sister and Jon. I mean it was _your_ ingenious notion to invite him here. Don’t you think we should assess and pan out what could happen with your design?” He pointed out. Batting his eyelashes in falsely innocence did not _at all_ reassure Arya.

She tapped her chin in farce thoughtfulness. “And you did call Aunt Lyanna days right after I asked Jon. You and that sweet young face of yours can make rocks melt.”

“That is literally impossible but I get the sentiment. So I think they’ll be together before we pack our stuff. What do you say?” Her brother confidently said. His silver tongue could be writing Sansa’s love story as they converse in that moment.

Arya considered and weighed what they know and have seen. All throughout their lives, Jon and Sansa have exited in diverse play fields of childhood and high school. Sansa being in debate teams, student council, and extra-curricular activities meanwhile Jon predictably engaged in sports like her older brother Robb. They breathed different airs and revolved in unalike social circles.

In college wherein popularity is now deemed arbitrary, this somehow brought them closer together. They would spend weeks before their exams in libraries, eat lunch at the same tables and even voluntarily chat whenever Jon and his mum dine with the Starks. They’re closer than ever and surely, _surely_ the heartstrings are knotted tighter and more secure now.

“I don’t know. Sansa would very much rather bathe in mud than confess she has a crush on someone so close with the family. It could make their potential breakup much more awkward.” Arya confesses.

Rickon crawls into Bran’s lap, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He curls himself against Bran’s chest and began to sleep not long after.

Bran chuckled. “Not to mention her pasts are horrific. But Jon is reckless in his love for her. I’m certain right now, Jon is wooing and making his move on her because of the alcohol.”

They both laughed at that comedic scene. “We both can’t be on the same side though.”

The older boy shrugged. “Fine let us go back to the checklist then.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_After…_

Bran and Arya sat on the hallway, silent as death and both heaving in exhaustion. Tucking in drunken college students was harder than their assumptions.

Arya handled Sansa, seeing as how she kept on tugging the hem of her dress then shrieking at how dark it was. It took about twenty minutes for the youngest sister to properly clothe her sister in loose shirt (of Jon’s old high school shirt for the surprise tomorrow) and baggy shorts. Bran recounted how Jon was a much easier to handle because he was sluggish, constantly dazed, and was easy to move around.

 With joint forces, they tackled Robb to his bed and luckily the sound of the mattress’ springs clinking didn’t wake the rest of the household. Finally, the misplaced energy of Robb dissipated and he’s reduced to a vessel of snores.

After dealing with the older teens, they had to clean the vomit soaked carpet Robb threw up on. They let tap water run along the surface of it in the kitchen sink and when all remnants have disappeared, they rolled it up and placed it underneath Robb’s bed. A smudge of revenge is expected from them.

“Jon kept on asking the pillow if she was okay with cuddling. He most likely thinks its Sansa.” He muttered, quiet and amused at the same time.

She snorted, not at all surprised. “They owe us a fucking lot for being accomplices to their disobedience. I hope the Father be just to us!” She mockingly raised her hands in the air.

He stood up and helped Arya in standing as well. “So I win the pot money  _and_ you’ll go with me to buy Cosmos, there’s a recent edition and with a new foreword from Neil deGrasse Tyson.” He reminded her in a lilting voice.

Arya scowled, her face souring at the taunt. “In hindsight, I should never have agreed to betting against you, oh Bran the Third Eye.” She said and stood on her toes to gather Bran’s fleshy cheeks in her hands and squished it. It wasn’t even a problem that he was taller, she quietly giggled at his offended reaction.

As expected, Bran frowned and swatted her hands away. “But I knew you would. I always know and see everything.” He reminded her nonchalantly.

 

 


	4. Green isn't My Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa isn't keen on sharing things. For instance, her exclusive perfumes, her favorite lilac sweater, and most importantly the boy she has been crushing on since forever. Denial dulls her envy for a time. That doesn't mean the green monster doesn't turn its head around women too close to Jon because oh it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll add a few things later on but comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !!

Sansa briefly thought that if she’s arriving at the gates of Heaven, then she’d kindly ask the archangels to lower down the brightness of everything.  It hurt even when her eyes are closed. Turning and tossing on the bed doesn’t eliminate the burning light warming her skin so she kicks the blanket away. She groans but any voice she makes hurt her throat.

Languidly, she peels her eyes open and the sudden afternoon light is excruciating. There wasn’t a chance to sleep now so she adjusts herself on the marshmallow cloud. Memories of last night were saturated by alcohol, foggy at best, and her head rings in pain as she attempts to recall forcefully.

“Good afternoon, sweet sister.”

Even if this disembodied voice had a feather’s light touch, she groaned with her dry throat and pounding headache. Staring at the pearl white ceiling didn’t ease the pain so she adjusts herself and plops back on the clouds of pillows behind her.

She turns her head and sees Bran with a tray on his lap. “Wh-what time is it?” Her voice sounded to her ears, like someone is grounding up pebbles near her.

The junior placed the tray on her lap. “It’s far too along according to mum.  We tried telling her hangovers are prevalent among college students all around. But she threatened us with a wooden ladle that if you three miss lunch, you’d have more than just a headache.” He says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world and she should’ve known the answer.

Her brunch consisted of pancakes with sliced berries and strawberries, few pieces of bacon, and a tall glass of water. She took the aspirins from her brother and drank from the glass. She picked up the knife and fork only to notice the shirt she’s wearing. It was larger than most of the shirts she owned.

“Bran,” She called as she sliced the pancakes, with the syrup oozing and pooling on the plate. “Why did you give me Robb’s shirt?”

Bran blinked at her. “Robb’s? Oh no, Jon owns that. They were at the same basketball team in high school remember?” He answered, his attention focused on his phone and not on Sansa’s blanching reaction. “I don’t know why he’d insist on you wearing _his_ shirt but alas, I wasn’t here when he was in your room. I think it’s a primal thing for guys to see their girls in their shirts. I probably should test this out on Meera when we return.”

Her mind, still heavily recovering from last night, is _reeling._ First, her reaction is a chilling dread because she can’t recall what Bran is insinuating. All she can pick up are the bright stars when they climbed on the house’s roof, the blazing warmth of the fire when they danced. She twisted on her side and peeled the blankets only to find more pillows. Disappointment filled her mouth at not possessing these memories of Jon so intimately close to her, the ways she only dreamed of like they were back at high school again.

_Where’s Jon? Did we sleep together? Does anyone else know?_

She wets her lips and her eyebrows scrunch in the effort of trying to remember but it’s too far away in her mind. _Why can’t I remember his touches? Even if he was drunk, at least he was the touchy type._ She curls one hand on _his_ shirt and her mouth curls into a simper, a shy one. Opening her mouth for a question of Jon but it stays on her tongue when she sees Bran grinning as his phone is directed at her. “Are you recording me?” She demanded.

“Yes, Arya told me to lie about you and Jon doing it and she wanted to see your reaction.” Bran answered. “You’re not shocked or even surprised. You look _happy_ about it.”

Sansa placed the tray of food on the table beside her bed. Then, she threw most of her pillows at her little brother. She successfully knocked him off his chair and he fell with a groan. “That was so uncalled for!” She shrieks peeking at the boy who’s rubbing his knee and his face on the floor. A muffled respond was made and she threw her last pillow at his back. “What did you say?”

“I _said,_ if you both weren’t so bloody shy then maybe you would’ve really snogged with him.” He whined and he stood up. “And maybe you didn’t have to bruise my knee.”

Heat burns her face. “How do you and Arya know about that dumb crush?” She said with a frown. She was so certain this infatuation (of almost five years, so maybe she loves him) is discreet and no one suspects her to have feelings for a boy so close with her family.

Bran rolled his eyes. “How can we not? Jon practically drools when you enter the room. And you as Arya have taught me a phrase, ‘eye fuck’ when he’s within your radius.” He huffs a breath and fixes his cotton shirt.

They both jumped at hearing a sharp cry of vulgar words and high pitched laughter trailing after it. The origin sounded a few doors down from her room; Jon’s bedroom. She turned to Bran who merely checked his watch and a smile subtle on his face. “Ah, that’s my time to leave. Arya has proceeded to wake Jon in her own special and uh, loving way.” He presses a kiss on Sansa’s cheek and smiled at her once more. “When you’re done eating and taking a bath, join us in the living room.”

“Don’t show that clip to Arya!”

“She promised me ten dollars if I do. I need Carl Sagan’s knowledge!”

Taking a bath proved to be an enjoyable distraction from what awaits downstairs with two pranksters, the rest of her family, and _Jon._ She doesn’t know how to act around him even more now that people are aware of how she feels. She took her time in the bathtub, soaking in her favoured rosewater while distantly, if she strain her ears quite right, she can hear Jon grumbling. At a distance and _still_ she can sense his glumness. When she redresses to meet her family, she briefly considered how irrational she is because of the alcohol last night. And then, she slipped on Jon’s shirt with flannel pyjama pants.

When she opens bedroom door, there were thundering footsteps and amused giggles. Turns out, it was Arya, with her feet covered with fuzzy socks, racing down the hallway. “Ah, good afternoon Sans!” She exclaimed in glee before basically sailing down the stairs.

“You absolute-“

The indignant voice stops and Sansa is staring at Jon being shirtless with his upper body doused in water. His black curls stuck to his head, every breath he took and she’s unfortunately aware of his ripped muscles glistening with the water. _Am I thirsty again or am I thirsting over him?_

His face turns red and he shuffles on his feet. He stands before her meek as a lamb and his smile is so sweet she nearly wanted to taste it. “Hey Sansa, you slept good?” He questioned with that glorious sleepy induced graveling voice.

She tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. “Yes!” _Your shirt smells like you and I wonder how your arms feel around me._ “How about you? Are you alright?” She shakily questioned and can’t seem to look into his eyes anymore.

“Well your darling sister threw a pail of cold water at me. She said I was lucky it wasn’t hot.” Jon answered, laughing lightly. His grey eyes, almost like mists are trapped in those orbs, darkened as he scrutinizes her body. “That’s my shirt.”

“Oh gosh, I-I’m so sorry! Arya and Bran are playing some trick on us and I’ll return it to you as soon as I’ll change. Just stay right there, I mean no need to wait for me. You don’t have to-“

Jon took a step forward, far closer than she ever thought he had (when sober) and he _smiled_ at her. The kind of genuine beam with crinkles beside his eyes and her heart is hammering harder in her chest. “Hey, hey, no rush. You look cute with it. You know what, keep that shirt. I have the letterman jacket.” He reassures her in a gentle tone, the perfect antidote to her frizzled nerves is his calming voice.

 _Can I also have your jacket? How about your love instead?_ She nods. “We should go down.” She said, gesturing to the stairs.

He smirked, such a sight shouldn’t be one of the first things she sees when she wakes up. “We should _get down,_ huh? I’m such a lucky boyfriend.” He says with that rich tone of taunt. It’s all that’ll ever be between them and Sansa will take whatever vagueness of this over anything else with anyone.

“Jon, there are children in this house.” Sansa hissed as she brushed her shoulder against his and walked to the stairs. She fixes her face vacant before he could see her smile at hearing him creep up from behind her.

“You’re right, my bad. How about I say stuff like that privately?” Again, she has to convince herself it’s all a game to him. He enjoys the blush that covers her face, how she can’t utter a proper response in return.

Sansa doesn’t respond and they descend into the living room, already chaotic without their help.

The second eldest amongst the teens is pacing in front of the empty fireplace, frustrated and annoyed. Arya and Bran are on the sofa with Rickon on the floor. They all turned their heads at their direction.

“Jonathan, put a shirt on. Rickon is only six!” Arya protested and ducked to cover the eyes of the youngest. The brunettes sprawled on the floor now, laughing.

“I would but Sansa is wearing it.” Jon quips and glances at her with that smirk she hates so much. She only hates that look because he’s even more annoying attractive.

Robb’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his curls. “She what now? Did you sleep with each other last night?” He demanded with a harsh tone and fury etched into the frown he now wore.

 _Ah, this is why I can’t be with Jon. Not that he would want to._ Sansa raises her hands as surrender. “Relax, brother dear. We did not.” She replies in assurance. “Jon, your best friend thinks we’re dating now.”

Jon was in the kitchen, his arms have a box of cereal, milk, and orange juice. He lays them on the marble top counter. “Is this fuss because you’re my lovely girlfriend?” He called out, not at all what she expected from him.

The scandalized look on Robb’s face was entertaining but also concerning. Luckily, her parents and Lyanna entered the scene. The older and yet identical redhead almost glided on the smooth floor to asses her eldest daughter.

“Sansa, honey, are you okay now? Did you like the brunch I made for you? Oh, you took a bath that’s good.” Catelyn frets and runs her hands through the mass of auburn locks down Sansa’s back. “We were so worried when you kids didn’t come home at midnight.” She shoots a subtle glare, but everyone sees it anyways, at Jon who is answering questions from Lyanna while he eats his cereal.

“It’s fine, mum. Now we’re safe.” Sansa answers with a small smile.

“What wasn’t safe is my priceless snow fur carpet!” Catelyn turned to point her finger at Robb, furious and everyone knows to stay away. “You threw up on _my_ carpet. You tried to hide it in your bedroom but I found it! It was a wedding gift from your Aunt Lysa.”

“Mother, I was drunk!”

“Sansa was drunk and she didn’t defile my carpet.”

Father finally came in the picture as he kisses his wife on the side of her head. “Not the best choice of words dear. Robb, you’re grounded for the rest of this trip for ruining that carpet. You will wash that thing and be on house arrest.” He decreed as though this was some case. He tends to use that stern voice he utilizes as a judge within the household.

Robb’s mouth hung open and his eyes went large. “Grounded? I’m nineteen!” He gasped aloud.

“Yes and you’re grounded. That’s on that.” Catelyn snapped. “You’ll be helping me around the house as well.  Maybe if you work with them, you will appreciate them _more_.” She said the last word with emphasis and narrowed her jaded eyes. “Come with me, son.” She ordered and Robb obeys with a huff of breath.

Lyanna and Jon enter the living room as everyone settles in their own seats. The stunning brunette pats Jon’s arm and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye sweetheart. Ned, let’s go I don’t want to be late.” She says in the same hard tone as Catelyn. She has her clutch, her flowery sundress skims on the floor, and her cinnamon locks flow like water down her back.

“Where are you going?” Sansa questions. She knew how close Lyanna and Ned are back in their childhood and it surprisingly lasts until now. _Will Jon and I end up like that?_

Ned kissed the heads of Rickon, Bran, and Arya before Sansa’s. “We’re going to an antique auction! It’s a few miles from here and they have some of the oldest clocks. I hope we’ll get our hands on it.” He grabbed the car keys and opens the door for Lyanna.

“I do hope we’ll get those medieval swords and oak chairs shaped as wolves. It’s a good thing Catelyn saw it for us.” Lyanna gushed with a giggle.

“Bye kids, wish us luck!” They both chorused then exited the house.

Since Jon was in charge because he’s the eldest, he decided to watch movies with the Starks. With good news, their hangovers are slowly disappearing. He sat right _next_ to Sansa while Arya, Bran, and Rickon sat on the floor, adoring the Disney movie playing. In other events that tie them together, he would usually stick to her younger sister. Seeing as how they probably have a book of secret jokes and they portray each other as siblings.

Sansa strayed away from the typical wonder from Jon and onto the movie, Big Hero 6 which everyone adored. She focused real hard on the scenes but the body heat from Jon plus she can feel his muscled legs are tantalizing distractions.

“Sansa.”

She snapped her head at Rickon, who was looking up at her, holding a bowl of popcorn. “Do you want some? It’s sour and cream.” He suggested.

“No thank you.” She politely declined, all the while chastising herself. _Get it together, woman._

“How about you Jon?” The six year old asked.

Jon looked down at his phone and grinned. “No thanks, bud. Hey Sansa, want to come with me to the volleyball match? I’ll need my good luck kiss.” He announced, his eyebrows waggling with a beam on his face.

Arya stood up and had her hands on her hips. “How come she gets to go? I want to go too!”

“I second that.” Bran agrees, picking popcorn form his palm and eating it.

“Why do you want to go?” Sansa asked Bran. As far as she knows, the junior isn’t all interested in sports unlike Robb and Jon.

He shrugged but the redhead caught the discreet eye slide towards Arya. “Physics in motion I’d say.” He answers in a tone that had more answers but he withheld it.

Jon shook his head. “You both have to stay and babysit little Rickon here.” He cooed and pinching the youngest boy’s cheek. It was somewhat endearing to see the interactions between him and her family. As though she was secretly wondering of their approval towards her crush-of _five years-_ and she knows that they all view each other as a family. _He’s too close with them. It’s not like he likes me anyways._

Arya narrowed her eyes and stomped into the hallway where Mother and Robb disappeared to. Grumbling voices were heard and she emerged in the room, happy as a lark. “Mother said we can all go together. Isn’t that right, mum?” She said her question out loud with an expectant tone.

“Yes and have fun! Robb, no you’ll turn our clothes pink!”

“Mum, I don’t have a fragile ego. I’d look dashing in that colour!”

Bran clapped his hands and picked up Rickon. “I guess it’s settled. Jon, you have an audience.” He says with a nonchalance that well hid his excitement.

Upon arriving at the site of the game, there was already a crowd, gathered around and basked in the afternoon blaze. People who laid on their towels, hid underneath large umbrellas, and the players readied chatted amongst themselves.

To her displeasure, she spotted Harry almost an instant and when he looked at her direction she stared lovingly (it wasn’t hard) at Jon. “Good luck, sweet love.” She whispers against his cheek before chastely pressing her mouth on his skin, just getting a feel, a fraction of a touch, on how he’d feel.

Jon outdid himself from yesterday’s performance and wrapped an arm on her waist, grinning, and his mouth hovered on her ear, hot breath melting the tension in her body. “Ah, the caveman is staring at your ass again.” He says but there was a hint of sadness.

_I’m just projecting my love for him in irrelevant actions._

“I don’t like guys staring at me.” She murmurs, oddly not objecting to _his_ touches, to _his_ fleeting glances thrown her way. Could he feel the hummingbird beats of her heart? Does he even care?

“Correction, you don’t like the wrong guy staring at you.” Jon whispers, against the spot behind her ear and she bets her college tuition that delight ran through the both of them with his gravel voice. He pats her butt and she laughs. “But with the right guy, you’d be blushing like a little schoolgirl.” His fingers graze on her heated cheeks then down to her neck, tracing the curve of her shoulder before leaning forward to _kiss_ her cheek.

Sansa could feel her face on fire at that moment. “Don’t lose.”

“Give your amazingly skilled boyfriend some credit, darling.” Jon coos with a laugh. He looks over his shoulder at the shout of his name. He mocks a salute and goes jogging towards his team.

She sat next to Bran and she’s thankful how none of them mentioned how loving, how fake their affections are of each other. “Jon and I aren’t dating. We’re only acting because a creep has his sights on me.” She lowly explained to the people who didn’t raise a question about their behaviour.

Bran merely adjusted the dark shades on the bridge of his nose meanwhile Arya nosily sipped on her milkshake.

Rickon frowned. “But I love Jon and I love you. Why can’t you be together?” He huffs.

 _Oh if you only knew the tentative steps and delicate steps towards love._ Sansa ruffles his hair. “Let’s support Jon, yes?” She hums.

If one of her siblings would ask what the score is, she wouldn’t know. She would mindlessly utter Jon’s name for that is all she focused on. How enthralling it is to witness his muscled arms stretch, his toned stomach flex, how his pale skin looked impossibly smooth and shines with sweat. She had to snatch Arya’s milkshake to try and eradicate this thirst in her but it doesn’t work.

“I think Jonny boy might win.” Arya mused as she glowered at Sansa.

She was about to make a reply but Jon dived to the sands and just in time hit the ball so it flew upwards and a lean blonde girl struck it down. The game resumed. But she sees how the blonde slapped Jon’s _arse_ and loudly exclaimed. “Nice save, pretty boy.” She said in a teasing voice.

Jon sends a quick smile and said something that made his team mates laugh. And the woman’s gaze _lingered_ for just a second more and a keen woman such as herself noted it down.

Sansa sits there, feeling something peculiar in her veins, a degree of heat that inclined to a simmer. Why was she mad? She isn’t sure but the more she ardently observed Jon and his fantastic body, the more she saw him talk to the blonde.

She twists her locks around her fingers, chewing on the inside of her cheek, her eyes sharpening into daggers. Granted, the blonde is matched Jon so perfectly, the fitting type for him. An athletic kind of woman, who is fun and spontaneous and everything that Sansa never really pondered on. _He seems to really like her._ She mourned.

Her attention went back to the game when she heard gasps around her. The shock was contagious to her because Harry is on the floor, cradling his nose and shouting curses. She could see a thin river of blood leaking out of his cupped hands and agony written on his face. Meanwhile, Jon’s team is roaring his name and clapping his back. And, Sansa noted with a taste of sour in on her tongue, the blonde is congratulating him with a bright smile.

_Do I smile like that to him? So bloody starry eyed and, and Jon smiles at her too._

The triumphant idiot swaggers to them. “Guys, I won!” He exclaimed in glee and high fived her younger siblings.

She stood up and Jon must’ve seen something wrong in her smoothly vacant face, unaffected by his win, because he straightens up his posture. “Congratulations, Jon. Boys, Arya, let’s get ice cream.” She hates how clipped and controlled her voice sounded, as though she’s restraining herself from suffocating Jon with the towel Bran brought.

They left him as they sat around the stools and waited for their order. Sansa taps her fingers against the counter. She doesn’t want to think of her attitude, of how it echoed the same petty behaviour when they were children and Mother thought it best her eldest daughter shouldn’t interact with a boy who isn’t in her standards.

“Why are you mad at Jon?” If a child could see it, no doubt the high school students and the target of her frustration saw right through her façade.

She smiles as the woman gives them each an ice cream come and varies in colour. Hers was lavender honey and she loved the sweet taste of it. “I’m not mad at him.”

“Oh you’re not? I didn’t know being happy meant glaring at me and looking like I did something immoral right in front of you.” Jon said with a harsh tone of sarcasm it could’ve bruised one’s skin. He stood in front of them, arms crossed and his frown was too adorable Sansa nearly smiled at how surly he looked.

“Maybe you don’t know me well enough.” Sansa hums and gives a lick on her ice cream.

A tick of his jaw excites her. It could’ve shamed her how she craves to see him like this, so _affected_ by her actions but being in love tends to cloud out logic. “Right yeah, I know you well enough to know you’ve been checking me out in the entirety of the game. And you’re still wearing my goddamn shirt.”

It was true. She tucked in his shirt into jean shorts, her hair thrown into a messy bun with some locks escaping the style. She gave her cool dessert another lick before replying. “Why aren’t you celebrating your victory with your teammates? I think a certain blonde is looking for you.” She might’ve sounded casual but a corner of her lips titled like she had an intention to snarl. Blinking innocently at him, she bites into her lavender honey ice cream so she wouldn’t frown at that thought.

Jon’s eyebrows rose at her remark. “What blonde?”

She swivelled her chair and her legs swung in front of her, her knees nearly touching his shins and she kept at a distance. “Oh you _know_ which blonde I’m pertaining to, Snow.” She bites out.

It took a moment for him to consider. “Wait, Val? I just played with her in the game.”

Sansa snorted in an unladylike fashion, an action Mother wouldn’t approve

“You’re jealous.” Jon said in utter amazement. His face is upturned and his tensed composure became lax.

A vicious tide of red washed in her veins at that-that _arrogant_ accusation. “I am _not!_ ” She says in a shrill voice.

He laughed in a musical tone that almost made her forget the anger. “You absolutely are! You’re _so_ jealous, baby.” He lilted.

So deep in her fury, she didn't notice how he tacked endearing pet names at the end of his sentences. “You two were flirting.” She sharply accused him. Her hand that didn’t hold her ice cream poked at his arm.

“No we weren’t, honey.”

“She slapped your arse, _pretty boy._ ” The nickname this Val used on him sounded harsher from her tongue. She curled her hand around the cone and continued to eat her ice cream as Jon stared at her.

Jon sighed and ran his hand through his curls. “Honestly, we’re just friends-“

“Aren’t you supposed to be _mine_? You’re _my_ boyfriend.” Sansa finally, _finally,_ snapped. Her voice could’ve cut through diamonds and metal. She wasn’t aware of how her siblings gaped at their argument, at what she said. She didn’t notice how Arya was gripping Bran’s arm too tightly that the boy winced. Rickon finished his ice cream long before any of his other siblings, much to his confusion. 

Her eyes widened at what she said. A furious blush covered her face as she saw Jon practically bouncing in excitement, in being smug of her weakness. “I-I only meant that if Harry saw you two flirting, he’d come at me again. I’m sure Val is a lovely girl.” Her voice was meek and didn’t hold any conviction at all to sway everyone of what they were thinking.

Jon scooted closer and he briefly bit his lip when Sansa’s legs automatically opened for him. They stood almost eye to eye at this level and she could see how wonderfully distracting his smile is. “First, that bloke is crying about his broken nose. And second, Sansa, I’m yours if you want me to be. I’ve always been yours and no one else’s.” He whispered like the gentle times Sansa thinks he isn’t serious of these strings tying them together.

The sincerity in his words made her reach up and kissed him. She dropped her ice cream and it fell with a _splat_ but she didn’t mind for his lips have the sweetest taste she suspects she’ll never get tired of.

“Yeah uh, we’re going to leave.” Bran muttered, pulling along Rickon who didn’t understand the tensed situation. And Arya, who was smirking like the devil himself as she ate her rocky road.

After years of dreaming what his touch was like, none of her fantasies seized up to reality. His calloused hands were gentle but they were sure of their path, burning her skin wherever they go. He loosened the hair tie and his fingers delved into the silky weight of her hair while the other tilted her neck to an angle that made their kissing all the more enticing.

A tap on Jon’s shoulder made him pull away and for Sansa to unconsciously chase his mouth. He winked at her and faced the owner, frowning at them. “Yeah?” He asked with his reddened lips and his cheeks dusting with a faint blush.

“Look, I’m happy y’all made up. But this is an ice cream parlor and there are kids. Why don’t you make out somewhere else. And again, I’m happy you guys made up.” He said, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Sansa stood up and curled herself against Jon’s side, her cheek nuzzling against his and his arms went around her hips. “We’re sorry.” She apologized with a meek smile.

“I’m sorry it’s just my girlfriend is so undeniably hot.” Jon breezily says and they both wave the vendor as they leave.

They walk along the shore of the beach, their arms on each other’s waists and they don’t say anything. She leans her head against him and softly hums. “We should go scuba diving.” She suggested.

“As our first date?” He acquiesces and he places a gentle kiss on the side of her head.

Sansa’s intrigued when he laughs for no apparent reason. “What is it?”

He looked deep into her eyes, his smile warmer than a summer’s heat. “I have tried to tell you that we should go scuba diving for days now.” He leans forward and kisses her nose.

“And now you will.”

He nods. “ _Together,_ we will indeed.”


	5. Semantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation of this new relationship is seen through a series of texts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is me attempting to be funny.

**Robb:** I am out!! Worst fucking experience of my life!!!

 **Arya:** I’m so proud of your coming out. Go off

 **Robb:** I’m not grounded anymore, asshat. Also, I am out and proud bishes !!! Are Jon and Sansa okay though? They drank bottles of tequila and gin. How are they?

 **Bran:** So who shall tell this poor soul?

 **Robb:** Are their hangovers that bad??? Tell me young ones.

 **Arya:** For calling us young ones, I’M telling him.

 **Bran:** NO. Arya, we talked about this. Actions of any magnitude will always set off a ripple of consequences.

 **Arya:** @ Third Eye: you got that off the damn book we bought together.

 **Arya:** Jon and Sansa are in a healthy relationship. By that, I mean they're in love and they fucked.

 **Bran:** Oh gods

 **Robb:** _Typing…_

 **Robb:** _Typing…_

 **Bran:** Don’t state you intend to harm our CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND in this group chat. Your younger siblings might be implicated as accomplices for your homicide.

 **Robb _:_** WHAT IN THE GODS’ ASS??? That motherfucking traitor

 **Arya:** Robbert!!! What would our Septs do if they heard you use profanity?

 **Bran:** Jon would never sleep with our mother. He’s scared of her. He slept with our sister, come on Robbert pay attention

 **Bran:** You got detention twice for cursing. And even too many times for fights. Sept Mordane would’ve been put to a coma if not for her tender old age took mercy on her.

 **Arya:** Everything I did was just. @ Robb: Let me paint you a picture of how I _know_ their statuses are.

 **Bran:** The gods be my witnesses, I tried to intervene by throwing pillows at my little sister. She’s feline quick though.

 **Arya:** ANYWAYS,  it’s almost evening but the house is empty because you went with mum for groceries (sucker!) Bran is out bird watching with Rickon making sandcastles at his feet. And I went back to our hq because I gotta change

 **Bran:** You have to look good for Gendry huh?

 **Robb:** Who is Gendry?? Is he like Hot Pie???

 **Bran:** I have to LAUGH

 **Arya:** Fuck you, good sir 

 **Bran:** Hmm, go on and exposing our sister then

 **Arya:** I go in Sansa’s  room because she somehow always wears the shorts that I love. But I couldn’t even see my damn shorts because Jon was butt naked and ON TOP of our pristine sister !! They were grunting like animals.

 **Arya:** Animals, sweetie I’m so sorry. I screamed like I just got murdered (I know you’ll kill Jon later this explanation, maybe you’re refilling your uh I’ll guess and say rifle) and they scrambled on the bed red in the face. They explained, albeit out of breath, that they’re really an item and they adore each other.

 **Bran:** See, brother? Their happy ending despite the unfortunate permanent graphic middle context of their love story.

 **Robb** : You really didn’t have to describe literally any of this. You could’ve just told me they’re dating. Maybe they’re holding hands and exchanging kisses on the cheeks. White lies are the moral exception, people. 

 **Arya:** _Moral_ of this anecdote, I didn’t find my shorts. I have to wear the shorts that don’t have dog designs on them. Instead, I settled with a plain ass denim shorts. 

 **Arya:** Robbert, we’re all animals deep in our genes or some shit. Brandon, love, back me up with your big brain.

 **Bran:** ROBB DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE COME INSIDE AND I’LL MAKE THE ICED TEA YOU ALL LOVE

 **Bran:** AND HE SLAMS THE DOOR

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

 **Bran:** So before he left, his eye was twitching mad. And I think an artery popped somewhere in his neck. He pissed…

 **Arya:** that is so sad. Alexa play despacito

 **Bran:** What??? We’ve binge watched How to get Away with Murder so I GUESS we can help him bury our almost like brother somewhere in the woods a few miles from here.

 **Arya:** Jon is a dumbass. Sansa is morosexual and I love her more than Jon. Thus, if we were to kill her beloved, her heart would break so no thanks!!! Let them be dumbly happy together before Robb insinuates some 1800s type of shit like a goddamn duel.

 **Arya:** Where ARE Jon and Sansa?

 **Bran:** Well, I was about to leave the docks when I saw them signing up for some scuba diving lessons.

 **Arya:** lmaooo Jon unintentionally planned his own murder. Robb could drown him and hide the body in the sea.

 **Bran:**  This summer is not what I expected it to be.

 


End file.
